The Battle For Everything
by twenty3
Summary: Nick sees the seriff shoot Warrick. If he chases after the sheriff, Warrick could die. If he goes to help Warrick, the sheriff could get away. Nick's split second decision has reprucussions no one could have seen coming. Post For Gedda.
1. Shock Wave

Summary: Nick sees the sheriff shoot Warrick and has to make a split second decision. What will his decison mean for Warrick, and for him? Does he make the right choice?

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

Warning: Violence and language.

* * *

Nick Stokes was no stranger to the sound of gunshots. He had heard them almost every day at work from Bobby Dawson test firing weapons in his lab. He had heard them his whole childhood when he had gone hunting with his father, brother and cousins. He had even fired guns himself before, every CSI had. He had heard gunshots before, but they had never sounded like this. Maybe it was because he was looking directly at the gun when it happened. Maybe it was because he wasn't expecting it and it shocked him at the same time he had heard it. Or maybe it was because the gunshots had come from the gun that was pointed into the driver's seat of his best friend's car.

Warrick Brown had told Nick to get their waitress' number, and Nick had actually considered it. He hadn't dated in a while, and had been thinking about doing so. He had been waiting for the young redhead to return when he decided that he had better make sure Warrick was really okay. His friend had seemed fine when they were all at breakfast, but Nick knew that Warrick was good at lying, especially when it came to his feelings.

So Nick left the diner shortly after Warrick, hoping to catch him but not expecting it. He was planning more on having to call his friend than actually getting to talk to him face to face again. Warrick had left a few minutes before Nick, which was why the Texan was so surprised to see that Warrick's car was still parked in the alley way.

Nick started to walk up to the car when he saw someone talking through the passenger side window. Nick stopped and stood still, watching from about twenty yards away. It was dark in the alley, the only lights coming from Warrick's tailights and headlights and the interior lights. Nick could vaguely make out Warrick's figure in the driver's side. He was facing whoever he was talking to, who Nick hadn't gotten a good look at it.

Afraid that it was one of Gedda's guys, Nick took a few silent steps forward to get a closer look. Nick was expecting a gangster to be talking to Warrick, or Grissom or Catherine, maybe even Brass or Greg. He had been expecting someone that would make sense to be there. He was expecting it to be anyone than who it was. Nick couldn't think of why undersheriff McKeen would be talking to Warrick in the middle of an alley outside the diner the team had had breakfast at. Nick was relieved at first that it wasn't someone dangerous, but Nick was wrong. His stomach dropped when he saw McKeen draw his gun, and in one fluent motion aim it at Warrick and pull the trigger.

That gunshot was the loudest Nick had ever heard, and he wasn't that close to the gun. It rang out and pounded into his ear drums, causing him to jump as the window of Warrick's car shattered. His breath caught in his throat and all of his muscles froze. Then the next gunshot rang out, but that sound was muffled to him, as if he was going deaf. Nick's legs started shaking as he stumbled backwards against the wall, but didn't make a sound. He stood flat against the cold brick, hidden in the shadows of the alley. He watched as McKeen wiped off the gun and tossed it onto the passenger's seat of Warrick's car through the open window.

Nick counted the sheriff's steps from the car until he passed him. Nineteen steps, and the sheriff was past Nick. He hadn't even seen him. Nick was aware that he wasn't breathing, but he didn't care. The sheriff rounded the corner out of the alley. He was getting away. Nick didn't know whether to go tackle him and beat him until he couldn't move, or try to help Warrick.

Warrick could still be alive. If Nick got to him in time, maybe he would be okay. Maybe it wasn't fatal. Nick could help him.

But if Nick helped Warrick, the sheriff could get away.

But if Nick chased the sheriff, Warrick could die.

It was a split second decision. Nick made it without hesitation or thinking twice. He took off, running as fast as he could to Warrick's car. His heart was pouding in his ears and his feet on the pavement. He didn't care if the sheriff heard him and came back. He was hoping he would so he could kill two birds with one stone.

_Okay, poor choice of words,_ Nick thought to himself.

Nick stopped on a dime outside of Warrick's car. He threw the door open and knelt down beside his friend, ignoring the shards of glass slicing through his jeans into his skin. Warrick was hunched up on the steering wheel, blood pouring from his chest and neck. Nick quickly tore off his shirt and ripped it in two, tying one piece around Warrick's neck tight enough to stop the bleeding but loose enough so he could still breathe and pressed the other against the wound on his chest. He moved Warrick slightly so he could hold the shirt against his bleeding chest tighter, but he didn't want to move him too much.

Nick was unaware of the fact that his t-shirt that he had been wearing under his longsleeved one was already stained with Warrick's blood. He had pulled Warrick against him to keep him steady and try to prevent him from going into shock. Nick fumbled for his cell phone and quickly dialed 911, barking at the operator to get an ambulance there now. Nick didn't remember doing that or calling Grissom and telling him that Warrick had been shot in the alley. All Nick could remember was kneeling there next to Warrick, trying his best to keep his friend from dying.

"Stay with me man," Nick pleaded. "You're gonna be okay Warrick, just hang in there. The ambulance is on its way."

Warrick gripped a handful of Nick's t-shirt, adding more blood to it. He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it in obvious pain. He didn't have enough breath to say anything, but he was trying his hardest to be able to.

"Don't say anything, just stay calm," Nick said, contradicting how he was feeling at the moment. "You're gonna be okay."

Warrick shook his head slightly as blood began to fill his mouth. "Mih-key-nn." he choked out in painful chunks.

"I know," Nick said, tears filling his eyes. "Just stay with me Warrick. Not much longer man, just please hang on."

Time seemed to ignore the rules it usually followed after that. It seemed to Nick like days had literally passed since Warrick had spoken and when the ambulance came flying up the alley along with three police cars, Brass and Grissom in one of them. The flashing lights blinded Nick to what was going on. His mind was racing and he couldn't make sense of anything. He was pulled away from Warrick by three sets of hands and brought to the front of the car and up the alley a ways. His back was to all the comotion, and he tried to turn around but strong hands gripped his arms and wouldn't let him move. He looked up at Brass, who was looking right back at him.

"Are you okay?" Brass yelled over all the other noise.

He might as well have been speaking a different language to Nick. The younger man just stared at the police captain, unable to comprehend anything. Brass held on to Nick's arms for a while longer, then the rough texture was replaced by a smooth, soft one as Catherine's hands took the place of Brass'. She looked at Nick, tears in her eyes as well. Grissom joined them, standing in front of Nick, not saying a word.

"Are you okay?" Catherine asked, repeating Brass' question.

Nick still couldn't answer. He couldn't move or think or speak. Catherine led him over to Brass' car with Grissom where she lifted his arm gently and removed his blood soaked t-shirt. A paramedic looked at him and found no wounds of any kind, telling them that the blood was all Warrick's. Catherine then removed his boots and jeans and gave them to Grissom before wrapping a blanket tightly around him and closing the door. She went around to the other side and got in the backseat with him, shutting the other door behind her as well, closing out the sounds from outside.

Nick was staring through the windshield at Warrick's car, the image of his friend dying in front of him forever embedded in his memory. He kept replaying it over and over in his head, hearing the gunshots and seeing the flashing from the gun as the bullets flew through the night air into his best friend. Nick then looked down at himself, not seeing the blanket covering that he was only wearing his boxers, but his blood soaked clothes. Warrick's blood. That didn't make sense to him. Why was Warrick shot? He had been fine, then the next thing Nick knew he was tying his shirt around his neck.

Catherine put her hand on Nick's arm and rubbed it gently. "Are you okay?" she asked quietly.

Nick looked up at her, hearing something for the first time since he had seen the flashing lights of the ambulance and the police cars. He understood her question, but didn't know how to answer it, so he didn't right away. He just looked at her looking at him, both of them with tears falling from their eyes. After a while, Nick shook his head slowly and was finally able to speak.

"Everything was going to be okay," Nick said softly. "This wasn't supposed to happen."

Catherine buried her face against Nick as Brass got into the car with Grissom and headed for the hospital. Nick rested his cheek on Catherine's head and closed his eyes, trying to fall asleep so that when he woke up, this would all just be a bad dream.

Grissom looked in the rearview mirror at his two CSI's, his two friends, in the backseat. They had all thought that this was over and that it was all going to be okay. Now it was starting all over again, and this time it was starting off worse than before, which Grissom personally didn't think was possible. He had been proven wrong, and this time he wasn't looking for it to lead him to right. He wanted it to be over, but it was just starting.

Brass couldn't believe how bad he had messed up. He had been so upset that Warrick had gotten into something so dangerous that he hadn't thought to get him protection he knew he would need. He hadn't gone out to breakfast with his friends like he normally did, and now look at where he was. He was driving Grissom, Nick and Catherine to the hospital to see if Warrick was still alive, or if he had died on the way there.

Nick opened his eyes against the stinging of the tears still falling. He wanted to tell Brass what he had seen. He knew what happened and needed to tell someone, but he couldn't. His mind put a mental block to his mouth, and he couldn't say what he wanted to. All he could do was watch it over and over in his mind, seeing Warrick dying in his arms.

Nick closed his eyes as tightly as he could and prayed to whoever may be listening that he made the right choice.


	2. DOA

Catherine was clutching Nick's hand as they sat in the waiting room, waiting for any news on how Warrick was doing. They had rushed him into the emergency room, and the paramedics had said that it wasn't looking good. Nick thought back to seeing all the blood not only covering Warrick's clothes but his own and fully understood that it was very serious. He was now dressed in jeans and a t-shirt that Greg had brought for him from Nick didn't know where. He didn't care about anything other than his best friend, who wasn't sitting with the five of them in the waiting room.

Nick was finally able to make his mind work properly and allow him to have control over the rest of his body. He squeezed Catherine's hand and opened his mouth, pausing momentarily before speaking.

"I saw what happened," he said softly, and everyone turned to stare at him. "I was leaving to ch-check up on him after he left, and his car was s-still there. He was t-talking to McKeen...then he s-shot him," he said so quietly that they almost didn't hear him, but they did.

They all stared at Nick in shock, not because of the tone of his voice or his stuttering, as he usually did when he was scared or nervous. They were shocked at what he had just said. They had been wondering how much Nick had seen, and now that they knew, they almost wished they didn't. None of them had imagined that that had been what had happened. They had all expected it to be one of Gedda's guys, just like Nick initially had.

But before anyone could even think of a response to what Nick had said, Warrick's doctor, who none of them knew by name, came into the waiting room, clutching his hands together. He sighed heavily as everyone stood, waiting for him to speak.

"I'm terribly sorry," he said slowly. "But we lost him. We tried everything we could, but there was nothing more we could do. I'm terribly sorry," he repeated before briefly shaking hands with Grissom and leaving the same way he had come in.

They all stared after him silently. They had all understood what he had said, but it hadn't quite sank in yet. They slowly turned and looked at each other, pale faces with pained and broken expressions meeting one another. Greg dropped his eyes to the floor, unable to look at Nick even though everyone else was now. The shock of what the doctor had just said replaced the shock of what Nick had told them. They had all forgotten about it momentarily, even Nick. They were now faced with something worse, something that made their hearts feel like they were ripping in two.

No one knew how long they had been standing there before Nick spoke. "I told him everything was going to be okay," he said, his voice reiterating the pained look on his face. "I told him he was going to be fine."

Catherine squeezed his hand and rubbed his back slowly. "It's not your fault Nicky," she said, tears threatening to choke her. "You did what you could to help him."

"But he still died," Nick said. "Why did this happen?"

"No reason is going to make it any better Nicky," Grissom said gently. "Nothing's going to make it better, except time."

"There isn't enough time to make this better," Nick said. "It just doesn't make any sense. Everything was going to be okay, right?"

Grissom nodded weakly. "It looked that way, yeah. But things don't always turn out the way we think. It's a part of life."

"It fucking sucks," Nick stated plainly, and no one could disagree with that statement.

Nick didn't understand how bad things kept following one after the other. In the last twelve hours, he had seen his best friend be shot, had tried to save him, then later found out that he had died. His best friend had died, and to make matters worse, he was sitting in an interrogation room, being questioned in the murder. He could barely pay attention to what was going on. Everything was happening too fast and it wasn't making any sense to him. The only thing he could think about was the fact that Warrick was dead. That and only that.

"Hey!" Wagenbach, the IA officer, yelled as he slammed his fist on the table to get Nick's attention. "I asked you a question."

Nick didn't flinch at all when Wagenbach yelled and hit the table. He just looked up at him from the floor, where he had been staring since he had sat down there. He knew that Brass and Grissom, if not Ecklie and others as well, were watching from behind the glass. Not that he had anything to hide. It was actually relieving to know that he had someone on his side watching in case he should need them. He guessed he would have to answer a few questions before they could do anything for him though.

"Sorry," Nick mumbled weakly. "What was your question?"

"How did your gun end up on the passenger seat of Warrick's car, with the bullets from it in him?"

Nick looked at him as if he had just asked him to do a very hard math problem. "What?" Was all he could muster.

Wagenback slid the ballistics report over to him. "That's your gun, the same gun that was used to kill Warrick Brown."

Nick's head was swimming. Not only did he not know how it was his gun that was used, but hadn't even known that they had started processing the scene already. He should have figured as much, but he had had more to think about than what was going on back at the alley.

Nick just shook his head slowly. "I don't...I don't know."

"That's not a good answer Nick," Wagenbach said, as if Nick didn't already know that. "How did bullets from your gun end up in your best friend?"

"I honestly don't know," Nick said. "Why don't you ask McKeen?"

Wagenbach frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"I was leaving the diner to go check and make sure Warrick was okay, and I saw his car was still in the alley. He was talking to someone, and as I got closer I saw it was under sheriff McKeen. I stopped and watched for a moment, then McKeen took out a gun - apparently my gun- and shot Warrick twice."

"And you didn't go after him?" Wagenbach asked skeptically.

"No, I went to help Warrick. I thought I might still be able to help him," he said sadly. "But I figured it was worth a shot."

Wagenbach shook his head slowly. "Why would the sheriff kill Warrick?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Nick answered with a question of his own. "He's the real mole. We knew it was someone higher up, and it's him."

Wagenbach was about to say something when Brass came in with Grissom. Wagenbach made no objections as they sat down on either side of them, both with worried expressions on their faces. They wanted to catch Warrick's killer as much as Nick, but even they were skeptical of Nick's story.

"Nicky," Grissom said. "You can't be sure who it was. It was dark out, you were tired, and your mind was playing tricks on you."

"I know what I saw," Nick said. "And when I got to Warrickm he said 'McKeen.' I know what I heard, and I know what I saw."

"Grissom may be right," Brass chimed in. "And maybe he was saying 'Nicky.' This is a pretty big accusation to make kid."

"I know what I saw," Nick said firmly. "You guys gotta believe me, we can prove it. There's gotta be something."

Grissom shook his head. "They checked the car twice over. All they found was your DNA, your fingerprints, and your gun."

"I was in Warrick's car all the time," Nick said. "Of course my prints are gonna be all over it, I was with him when he was dying."

"We know you didn't kill him Nick," Grissom said. "It just looks that way."

"That's how he wants it to look," Nick said. "He framed Warrick for Gedda's death, and now he's framing me for Warrick's death. It was him, I swear."

"Nick," Brass said, "He was at a dinner with a judge, who already vouched for him. He has an alibi."

"He killed Warrick," Nick said without hesitation. "I wouldn't have said it if I wasn't sure."

Grissom and Brass exchanged glances with Wagenbach, who stood silently, just listening. None of them knew what to do. Another CSI was being suspected of murder, and in this case it was of a fellow CSI. And not just any CSI. It was Warrick. Nick and Warrick. It wasn't possible, except for what the evidence was suggesting.

"I don't need a lawyer," Nick said, reading Brass' next thought. "I didn't do anything wrong."

The three other men silently and secretly admired the uncanniness of the similarities between Nick and Warrick. They both acted the same and responded the same as one another, especially in this situation.

"You haven't been charged yet," Brass said, taking over. "We can't hold you for anything. Until they want to talk to you again and want to move forward, you're free to go."

Wagenbach nodded in agreement, a completely different person that he had been during Warrick's interrogation. He felt sympathy for the other men, especially Nick. He didn't want to believe that either Nick or McKeen had killed Warrick, but he had to do his job.

Nick got up and left the interrogation room, heading straight for the break room where Catherine and Greg awaited them. In the meantime, they had also been discussing the possibility of under sheriff McKeen being the killer. It was hard to grasp, especially since he had an alibi. But it was even harder to believe that Nick would kill Warrick. In fact, they knew he would never do that. They were just going to have to prove it, if they were even given the chance.

Nick sank down into the couch in between Catherine and Greg. Grissom and Brass took the chairs across from them, sitting the exact same way they had in the waiting room of the hospital hours before. Everyone noticed it, but no one pointed it out. They all just sat there, trying to come to grips with the situation at hand that had gone from bad to worse in the blink of an eye.


	3. Trial and Error

"Nicky, maybe it wasn't him," Catherine said carefully.

"I know it sounds crazy," Nick said, "but I know what I saw. It was McKeen. He killed Warrick. I'm positive."

"But he has an alibi," Brass said.

"He's lying," Nick replied simply. "The judge is in his bakc pocket. McKeen can pay whoever he wants to do whatever he wants. We knew it was someone higher up that was involved with Gedda, now we know who it is."

Grissom sighed. "This is just a little out of the ordinary Nick."

"That's what our job is," Nick argued. "Things rarely make sense. They don't have to."

"I don't like McKeen," Brass said, "but I've never seen a man like him do something like this."

"I've seen a rich man beg. I've seen a good man sin. I've seen a tough man cry. I've seen a loser win. I've seen a sad man smile. I've heard an honest man lie," Nick said. "Looks can be deceiving. I've seen the good side of bad, the down side of up and everything imaginable in between. This isn't any crazier than the things we've seen and know to be true."

"We understand that this is hard for you Nick," Ecklie, who had recently joined them, added. "But you can't just go around accusing people of something they didn't do."

"Seven years ago, you accused me of something I didn't do," Nick said. "Warrick was accused, twice, of something he didn't do. Greg was accused of something he didn't do. We've accused countless people of things they didn't do."

"This is different," Ecklie said. "This is the sheriff we're talking about."

"I know who it is," Nick said. "And I know that he killed my best friend. If no one wants to believe me, fine. I don't care. I'll prove it on my own. He's not getting away with this. You guys can try and let him, but I won't."

Ecklie sighed. "You can't be a vigilante just because your friend was killed. There's still a justice system. We still have our jobs to do."

"Then do your fucking job," Nick said. "Don't sit back and yell at me for saying something you're afraid is true. Do something about it. I'm right, I swear I'm right."

Greg stood from the couch next to Nick. "I'm with him," he said.

Ecklie rolled his eyes. "Just because he's older than you and a higher level CSI doesn't mean he's always right."

Greg nodded. "As far as I'm concerned it does. Him and Warrick helped keep me outta jail. They went out of their way to help prove I didn't do anything wrong. Now Warrick's gone, and I didn't get to repay him. This is the least I can do."

"What if Nick's wrong?" Ecklie asked.

"What if he's right?" Grissom chimed in.

"Come on Gil, you can't be serious," Ecklie said dramatically.

"I very rarely kid around Conrad," Grissom said. "I like to think that I know my team fairly well. I've never seen a friendship like Nick and Warrick's. Losing that isn't easy to do, and I agree that Nick might be wrong. There's always a possibility of that. But there's a better chance that he's right. He wouldn't just make something like this up."

"How do you know that?" Ecklie asked.

"Because I know him," Grissom said. "I know him very well. I know that the only obligation he's had for the last twenty some odds to stay alive is the fact that he refuses to give in. He never quits, even when he's given no other choice. More bad stuff has happened to this kid than anyone else I've ever met, but he's still here."

"He's relentless, I'll give him that," Ecklie agreed. "But that doesn't mean that he's not lying about what happened. Maybe he's not doing it on purpose. He could have seen something, and his mind could be tricking him into thinking it was McKeen. He has an alibi, how are we supposed to ignore that?"

"Don't ask me how, because I don't know," Nick said. "Don't ask me how, but if I have to, I'll do this on my own."

"But he doesn't have to," Catherine said. "And he's not going to. We're in this with him whether you like it or not."

Ecklie looked around at the CSIs before he landed on Brass. "It seems as though you're the only rational person left in this room," he said.

Brass sighed heavily. "Any rationality or sanity I have left has been worn thin by this guy," he said, walking over and patting Nick on the shoulder. "I'll be the first one to admit that he has some whacked ideas sometimes, but more than half of the time, he's right. And when it comes to one of our guys, one of our friends, fuck it. I'll do whatever it takes."

Ecklie stood there and stared at all of them. "You can't be serious," he repeated his earlier statement, but to everyone this time.

"Well are are," Nick said. "And you're just going to have to accept the fact that we're going to prove this, no matter what we have to do, we're gonna do it."

* * *

Grissom, Catherine, Brass and Greg stood in a line in front of the observation window, watching Nick try to explain what happened. Wagenbach was in the interrogation room, along with McKeen, Ecklie and another IA official names Myers. McKeen wasn't there for the reason everyone wished he was though. They had all made an agreement not to mention what Nick had said about what had happened until they had more evidence. Even Ecklie agreed that it was dangerous. If McKeen was in fact guilty and knew Nick knew about it, they agreed that he would have no problem in killing Nick and anyone else he had to. Now all they had to do was get Nick to keep his mouth shut, which was never easy.

"We have statements from three witnesses," Myers said. "None of whom could recall you being there when they heard the shots fired. One of them saw you leave shortly before the occured. How do you explain that?"

Nick sighed heavily. "The rest of the team left, and me and Warrick stayed behind for a minute. Then he left a few minutes before me, and then I went out after him to make sure he was really okay. I was in the alley when the shots were fired."

"Did you see anything?" McKeen asked, a little too anxiously.

Nick clenched his jaw and refrained from saying what he really wanted to. "No," he said, shaking his head. "It was too dark and I was too far away. Then I ran up to the car and tried to help him."

"Is that your explanation for your fingerprints all over the car?" Myers asked.

"I was in Warrick's car all the time," Nick said. "He was in my car all the time. I drove his car all the time. Of course my prints are gonna be in it."

Wagenbach nodded. "That's not an unbelievable answer Myers," he said. "It definitely answers your question."

Before Myers could rebuttle, there was a knock at the door. Detective Vartann entered shortly after, walking in and keeping his eyes away from Nick. He couldn't look at a friend of his in the interrogation room like this, especially under the circumstances. Brass followed him in, standing with the rest of the law enforcement officers on the opposite side of the table as Nick.

"The other witness is here," Vartann reported. "He was sitting at the table right next to all the CSIs."

Myers nodded. "Okay, bring him in. We can finish with Nick later."

Nick stood with a nod from Brass, who led him to the break room. Brass returned to the observation room where everyone else still was. They watched as Vartann escorted an older black man into the interrogation room. He shook hands with the cops before sitting down. His dark hair had flecks of grey in it and his kind, dark brown eyes were behind a pair of prescription glasses. He was dressed in black dress pants and a blue collared t-shirt. He looked like he was about to go golfing, which wasn't out of the question.

"Mr. Jones," Myers began. "You were sitting next to the CSIs at the diner, correct?"

Mr. Jones nodded. "Yes, that's right. I was by myself, my wife was at home with the grand-kids."

Myers smiled slightly. "So can you tell me what happened after the CSIs left?"

"Not all of them did at the same time," Jones said. "Two of them stayed behind a little bit. The young black man and that nice looking white boy. They reminded me of my son and my son-in-law, so I noticed them."

"Did you happen to hear a conversation between them at all?" McKeen asked.

Jones nodded again. "Not because I did on purpose, they was just close to me and I heard it. The white boy said they should go get a drink somewhere, and the other said he'd rather just go home and take a shower or something. Then he told the white boy to talk to that pretty young red-head waitress they had, and they laughed at that. Then before the black man left, the white boy grabbed his arm gentle-like and said that he was glad he was okay and that he'd call him later."

"Then he left?" Myers asked.

"Yes. The white boy stayed back a few minutes, then got up and left himself after the waitress walked by, but he didn't say nothing to her."

"When did the gunshots occur?" McKeen asked.

Jones shook his head. "I'm not sure exactly."

"Was it before or after the white guy left?" Myers inquired.

"After," Jones answered. "He had been gone a minute or two. I thought he was gonna come back, but he never did."

Myers nodded slighty. "Thank you Mr. Jones."

"Now you wait a minute," Jones said. "You don't think that white boy done nothing, do ya?"

"He's a suspect," Myers answered. "We're still investigating what happened."

"Well that white boy didn't do it," Jones said. "Him and that other guy, they were like best friends. I've seen em around before. I always notice em because they look like my son and son-in-law, like I said. He wouldn't have shot him or nothing, especially since he had no reason to."

Myers stood, and so did Jones. "Thank you for your time," Myers said as they shook hands.

Jones began to leave, but before he did, he turned back and said, "I wasn't gonna say it before, but now I feel like I have to. It ain't because one of them is white, and the dead one is black, is it?" No one answered him. "Now that's a damn shame. I thought we was getting past all that. My daughter married a nice white boy, and he's like a son to me. Love him like he is. Color don't matter, not to two friends. That nice white boy wouldn't hurt no one, especially his friend."

Jones left, leaving the officers sitting there, thinking about what they had said. No one had come right out and said that race was apart of this issue. The media had done that on their own. But a black CSI being killed by potentially another CSI, who was white, didn't look good, and the media was doing their best to exploit that.

Nick was brought back into the interrogation room so he could finish being questioned. He sat down in the seat he had previously occupied and waited for someone to ask him another question.

It didn't take long.

"Fourteen hundred dollars is a lot of money," Myers said.

Nick frowned. "Okay," he said, not knowing where to go with that.

"You didn't seem to think so though," Myers continued. "You wrote a check to Warrick for that amount two and a half months ago. Why?"

Nick sighed. "He needed to borrow some money, and I lent it to him."

"What did he need it for?" McKeen asked.

Even though Warrick was no longer with them, Nick still wasn't going to sell him out. "I don't know. I don't care."

"Come on," McKeen said. "You just don't hand out that kind of money without asking questions."

"I do," Nick said.

On the other side of the glass, Grissom turned to Brass. "If McKeen keeps pushing him like this, he might get suspicious."

Brass nodded. "Nicky just better answer the questions and keep from saying something stupid."

"Easier said than done," Catherine said.

McKeen continued to question Nick. "So is that why you killed him?" he asked. "Because of money?"

Nick shook his head. "I didn't kill him. I didn't care about the money."

"David Phillips, the assistant coroner, said that he saw Warrick repay Nick and that Nick was reluctant to take the money," Wagenbach said, coming to Nick's defense.

"But you did take it back," Myers said.

Nick nodded. "He wanted me to, so I did."

"You mean to say you did it for him?" Myers asked.

Nick nodded again. "Yeah. He said he always repaid his debts, and I didn't want him to feel like he owed me anything."

"But he did owe you something. He owed you fourteen hundred dollars," McKeen said.

Nick shrugged. "I didn't care about that. He needed the money, and I gave it to him. He wanted to pay me back, so he did. Nothing more to it."

"Except now he's dead," McKeen said. "And you're starting to look guiltier and guiltier my friend."

"You're not my friend," Nick said. "My friend's dead."

McKeen glared at Nick. "It was a long time coming. He was heading down a bad road. You should have seen it coming. Maybe that's why you did it yourself, because you felt so guilty about who your friend was becoming."

Nick wanted nothing more than to punch McKeen in the face until he couldn't lift his arm anymore. But he couldn't do that. He couldn't do anything really, except sit there and take whatever the other man said. He wouldn't, however, do so quietly.

"I tried to save him from when he started taking pills and gambling again up until the minute he died. I'd kill myself before I'd ever kill him," Nick said.

"You almost killed yourself once," McKeen argued. "You surely remember that."

"But I didn't," Nick said. "And I didn't kill Warrick either. So you're 0 for two."

* * *

Sorry for the delayed update. The last weeks of school were crazy, but now I'm finally done and have more free time. Thanks for the reviews.


	4. Divide and Conquer

Nick heard Catherine's muffled sobs coming from behind the break room door. He hesitated momentarily, not sure if he should go in or not. But after a moment, he knew he should. Catherine was one of his closest friends, and he knew he would be wrong if he thought that he was the only one who lost something when Warrick died. Warrick was something to everyone; even Hodges was upset that he was gone. Nick knew that if he could help anyone right now, it was Catherine.

He opened the door and closed it behind him silently. Nick was being as quiet as he could, but Catherine still heard him. She lifted her head from her hands and looked up at him, smiling sadly. Nick sat down next to her, and immediatly after he did she threw her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder. Nick wrapped his arms around her back and rested his head against hers, feeling his own tears coming on.

"It's gonna be okay Catherine," Nick said, but he didn't believe those words himself.

Catherine shook her head slightly. "No it's not. He never knew, I never told him."

NIck tried to swallow the lump in his throat so it'd be easier for him to speak. "He knew," he whispered.

Catherine pulled back from Nick so she could see his face. "What do you mean?" she asked.

"He knew," Nick said.

"Knew what?"

"He knew," Nick repeated. "He knew what you wanted to tell him."

"He knew I loved him?" Catherine asked, and Nick nodded slowly. "How?"

"Everyone knew," Nick said, eliciting a small smile from Catherine. "He said he always knew, he just never knew what to do about it."

"He told you that?" Catherine asked. Nick nodded. "What else did he tell you?"

"That he loved you too," Nick said softly. "And that he wished he never got married. He said it ruined any chance he had with you. He said he wished he had listened to me years ago and just told you how he felt. But even though he didn't, he was still happy because he got to see you everyday."

Tears cascaded down Catherine's pale face from her green eyes. "You're just saying that. You're lying...please be lying."

Nick shook his head slowly. "I'm not lying. He told me that when him and Tina started having problems. He said he never loved her, that he always loved you, and made me promise not to tell you, unless-"

"Something happened to him," Catherine said, finishing where Nick trailed off. "Why didn't he tell me before?"

"He was afraid he was going to end up hurting you somehow," Nick said. "He wouldn't listen to me."

"He never listened to you," Catherine said with a small smile. "But you never really listened to him either."

Nick smiled in agreement. "At least he listened to me once."

"With the drugs," Catherine said instead of asked. "Is that what he needed the money for?"

Nick shook his head. "No. Well, not exactly. That didn't really help, but wasn't the real reason. He had started gambling again, not a lot, but still more than he should have. Some old friend he ran into got him caught up in it again, and he lost some money. I gave it to him after he promised to stop, and he did."

"Why didn't you just say that when McKeen asked you? It would make you look a lot less guilty."

"I'm not gonna rat Warrick out, even if he's not here anymore," Nick said. "Everyone thought he was done gambling. He wouldn't want anyone to know, he had a hard enough time telling me, never mind Grissom or even Brass."

"And besides," came Greg's voice from the door, "the DA isn't charging you. He doesn't like the evidence and doesn't think you did it."

Nick nodded slightly. "How long you been standing there G?"

"Long enough," Greg replied. "Don't worry," he added, "I'm not gonna say anything. Forget I was even here."

Greg turned to leave, but Nick called out to him. "That's kinda hard to do man. I'm gonna have to kill you if you leave this room," he said jokingly. Greg smiled as he came over and joined his two friends on the couch. Catherine hugged him for a bit longer than the standard hug, keeping the smile on Greg's face.

"So the DA isn't charging Nick?" Catherine asked after she released Greg.

"No, he's not," Grissom answered as he came into the room with Brass. The two men pulled up chairs in front of the couch the three CSIs were sitting on. "He's suspicious and knows there's another mole somewhere in the department."

"There has to be something more we can do other than just sit here," Nick said. "I know what happened. We can just work backwards from there. There has to be something linking McKeen to Gedda."

"If there is, it's being overshadowed by what's linking Warrick to Gedda," Brass said with a sigh. "And we can't tell the DA what you know because we're too scared that one of McKeen's guys will come after you. Or McKeen himself."

Nick shook his head slowly. "He just took out his gun and shot him," he said quietly. "He had no reason to. Warrick didn't know anything more than we did at the time. He didn't follow the rules, so why should we?"

"You can't just go after him," Grissom said, trying to reason with the younger man. "What would you do if you got McKeen alone Nick?"

"You know what I would do," Nick said.

"Which is why you can't," Grissom replied. "You would try to get him to confess, but all he'd do is hint at it without giving anything up. He'd say some things, and you'd end up killing him, leaving yourself with nothing."

"I know what he did. That should be enough, who cares if I can't prove it?" Nick argued.

"Warrick would care," Grissom said. "You know he would. He wouldn't want you turning into some vigilante, running around trying to beat information out of people. He'd want you to do your job, get McKeen the right, lawful way. You're good at your job Nicky, we all are. You can do this the right way."

"How?" Nick asked. "How are we supposed to do that when McKeen's heading the investigation? He probably destroyed all the evidence already, leaving us with nothing to go on. How are we supposed to do this the right way?"

"I said _you_ could do this the right way," Grissom said. Nick frowned in confusion. "The DA has agreed to allow you to go to the scene. He wants another set of eyes there, someone from our team. We've elected you. McKeen doesn't know. The scene is set to close in twelve hours, giving you plenty of time to find what you need."

"What am I supposed to find?" Nick asked.

Grissom shrugged slightly. "You'll know it when you see it. But you'll only see it if you forget everything else. You can't think about Warrick, or McKeen, or anything. You know as well as I do that that will only confuse you and make this harder. Replay what you saw, use that. Use your mind, not your anger, and you'll get what you need."

"Greg and Catherine are going to go over the car one more time," Brass added. "The hospital finally sent over Warrick's clothes, and we'll be the first to get them, no one else. We don't have much, but it can be enough."

Everyone nodded silently. They looked around the room at one another briefly before all of their eyes fell to the floor as they got lost in their own thoughts. They stayed like thatfor a moment, silent and still, until Brass stood up from his chair.

"Alright guys, let's get to work. I'm gonna stay here and help in any way I can until Grissom gets back from dropping Nick at the scene," the captain said.

Everyone followed suite and stood. Greg and Catherine went with Brass to the layout room where Warrick's clothes awaited them, and Nick followed Grissom to the parking garage. The walk there was silent, as was the start of the ride to the scene. The sun had risen above the horizon about an hour ago, but the heat hadn't sunk in yet. It felt like it was going to be a chilly day, something that was rare in Las Vegas.

They were about five minutes from their destination when Grissom spoke.

"I didn't want to say it on front of everyone else," he started, "but I think they might know anyway."

Nick looked over at Grissom, who's eyes were focused on the road. "Say what?" Nick asked.

"That this is more on you than anyone else," Grissom answered. "Sure, if we find something from the clothes or car it'll help, but not as much as what you can find at the scene. You were there, you can play it backwards in your head. No one else can do that. No one else was as close as you."

"Are you going to help me?"

Grissom shook his head. "No."

"Why?"

"Because no one can help you," Grissom responded. "You need to do this on your own. Not just for the case, but for you."

Nick shook his head slowly. "What if I can't? Everytime I close my eyes, I see him. I see him dying right in front of me all over again. I couldn't do anything then, what makes you think I can now?"

"Like I said to Ecklie, because I know you," Grissom said. "I know that you can do this, even if you don't think you can. You have plenty of time, so don't rush it." Grissom pulled to a stop at the bottom of the alley and put the car in park. He looked over at Nick for the first time since they had gotten into the car. "Just do what you do. Call me when you find it, and you will find it."

Nick was looking at his supervisor, but all he could see was the alley behind him where his best friend had died. "The last thing that I said to him was that everything was going to be okay. I lied to him, I told him he was going to be fine. I lied."

Grissom shook his head. "He wouldn't hold it against you Nicky. "

"I'm holding it against me."

"Well you shouldn't," Grissom said. "What more could you have done? If you had gone out with him, the sheriff would have shot both of you and you know that. You did everything you could."

"And he still died," Nick said softly.

"And he still died," Grissom agreed. "So, why don't you do the next best thing and catch the guy that did it and put him away forever?" Grissom paused before he added, "You can't bring him back Nicky."

Nick was looking at just Grissom now. "I know," he whispered. "I just wish I could."


	5. Behind Closed Eyes

Nick stood in the exact same spot he had stood that night. He stood where he had been standing when he had watched McKeen shoot his best friend. Nick tore his eyes away from the place where Warrick's car had been, just under twenty yards from where he stood. He looked down at the pavement below him, half expecting to see impressions from his shoes from the last time he had been there. It felt like so long ago that he had stood there and heard the gunshots ring out in the still night air. It looked the same, but at the same time, completely different. Seeing it in daylight almost made Nick believe that this wasn't where it happened. He was starting to believe that, until he looked up again.

It didn't matter that it was daylight out now. Nick saw the exact same thing he had seen that night as soon as he closed his eyes. Warrick's car, less than sixty feet in front of him. The only lights in the alley came from a dim one at the far end and the tailights of the vehicle. Nick stood in the same spot as he replayed it over in his mind. He kept his eyes shut as tightly as possible, waiting as the scene played over in his mind as if it had been from a movie that he had memorized. He saw the sheriff knock on Warrick's window, allowing them to speak for a while. Then McKeen drew his gun, and in a fulent motion he aimed it and fired.

The gunshot pierced through Nick's mind like it was happening all over again. His eyes flew open and his breath caught in his throat. He jumped, just like he had jumped then. His legs were shaking so bad that his left one was hitting his filed kit that was set down on the ground next to him. He stared straight ahead, but the car wasn't there anymore. The sheriff wasn't there anymore. Warrick wasn't there anymore. Nothing was. It all went away as soon as he opened his eyes and came back to reality.

Nick took a deep breath and let it out slowly before he closed his eyes again. The scene picked up right where it had left off, as if it truly were a movie playing through his mind. The sheriff cleaned off the gun and tossed it into the car through to open passenger side window. Then he started walking towards Nick, then he passed him without even having seen the other man at all.

Nick opened his eyes again. He frowned slightly when he realized that he was up against the wall, like he had been that night after he stumbled back after seeing the sheriff shoot Warrick. His field kit was on its side and his hands were gripping the wall as if doing so would make it all stop. It wasn't until his lungs started burning in protest that Nick realized he had held his breath. Once Nick closed his eyes, he replayed everything in his mind. He even did the same things he had done that night. He didn't know how, but it was happening. So he closed his eyes again out of hopes that he would see something he had missed that night.

Eyes tightly closed, Nick began walking towards the spot where Warrick's car had been. In his mind, he was running, but not in reality. He was going as slow as he possibly could, prolonging the inevitable. He didn't want to, but at the same time he didn't have a choice. He kept going, keeping his eyes closed and his hands pinned down by his sides.

Nineteen steps later, and Nick opened his eyes. Nineteen steps had been what Nick had counted the sheriff taking before he had passed Nick in the alley. The Texan turned around and saw his field kit abandoned where he had left it, about ten feet inside the yellow police tape that was sealing off the alley. Nick turned his attention to the ground, where there was still some glass shards scattered about. Closing his eyes again, Nick kneeled on the ground, the familiar feeling of the sharp glass piercing through his jeans into his skin meeting him once more.

With his eyes closed, Nick could see Warrick in front of him, slowly bleeding to death. He could hear his own words, his own lies, falling through his lips deperately as he tried to make Warrick hang on. He heard Warrick reply with a muffled response, one that Nick had been sure he had understood, but now he wasn't certain. He opened his eyes briefly before closing them again, trying to go back to what Warrick had said. That night, he had been certain that Warrick had said "McKeen", but now he thought that he might have said "Nicky" like Brass had suggested. Keeping his eyes closed proved only to make the tightness in his chest worse, so Nick opened them and continued to kneel on the glass littered on the ground.

After thinking it over, Nick decided that it didn't matter what Warrick had said. He knew what he had seen. What Warrick had said didn't change that, so Nick pushed it to the back of his mind. He focused on the task at hand. He looked around him, slowly scanning the ground. He saw nothing. For an alley, it was fairly clean. To his right was nothing but his field kit and the tape. In front of him was nothing but a brick wall, the same as the one behind him. To his left were a few crates and a trash can, which he could already see was empty.

"There has to be something," Nick said aloud to himself in frustration.

He knelt there for almost an hour, looking all around him, but seeing nothing but pavement and bits of broken glass. Finally he stood and slowly retraced his steps back to his kit, this time with his eyes open. Again, he found nothing. By the time he had made it to his kit, it took all he had in him not to kick it out of pure rage. He was about to when he remember Grissom telling him not to act on anger. He knew that it would only make it harder, and this was hard enough as it was.

So he took another deep breath and held it in before slowly letting it out. He had replayed it in his mind and looked everywhere, as had everyone else that had been to this scene. He had watched it over in his mind, and it had gotten him nowhere, but it had added to the pain in his chest. It had reminded him that he wasn't able to save his friend. It reminded him that when he had stood in this spot that night and he had been faced with a decision, that maybe he had made the wrong one. He hadn't thought he did, but now he wasn't sure of anything that had happened that night anymore.

Before his guilt of what happened could progress, Nick went back to that night again in his mind. But this time, he didn't focus so much on what he had seen but what he had thought. As the sheriff had walked by him and around the corner, Nick had contemplated whether or not he should chase after him, or go and help his friend. Nick looked over his shoulder towards where his decision had led him. He knew that if given another chance, he would still do the same thing. The possibility of saving Warrick greatly outweighed the possibility of catching McKeen. But what if he had chased after him?

Nick reached down and picked up his kit before he started off down the alley towards the police tape. He ducked under it and headed around the corner to his left, where McKeen had gone. He walked slowly, scanning the sidewalk at his feet. There was nothing special about the sidewalk, it had cracks and lines just like any other. The wall of an insurance building was to his left and the street to his right, meters and light posts sticking out of the pavement up into the air above his head. There weren't many cars parked along the street and fewer still in the street itself. This backstreet wasn't busy at all, and Nick was sort of glad for that. Less distractions he figured.

He was about to get frustrated and want to kick something again when something caught his eye. It looked like a piece of paper at first, hanging over the ledge of the sidewalk. As he got closer, Nick saw that it was a cloth. He walked up to it and kneeled down in front of where it was sitting on the street, placing his kit by his side. Without taking his eyes off the cloth, he took out his camera and gloves, photographing it before picking it up and taking a closer look at it.

Nick didn't have to close his eyes to remember where he had seen this before. This was the cloth that McKeen had cleaned the gun he had used to Warrick with. Sure, it had been dark out and Nick had been far away, but he knew this was it. It had to be, it wouldn't have caused the little flip of his stomach that it had if it wasn't what he knew it was. He bagged the cloth and put it safely away in his case before scanning the pavement around where he had found it. In front of him, on the street, there were skidmarks that looked fresher than the other ones on the ground. Nick took photos of those as well. He stood there for a minute, trying to put together what had happened in his head. Without anyone to run it through with, he chose to talk out loud to himself. No one was around, and besides, he didn't care about how crazy he looked anymore.

"Why did he drop the cloth he used to clean his murder weapon with?" he asked himself. He moved to stand on the sidewalk and held his hand in a fist as if he were holding the cloth. The he looked at the skidmarks that came from the middle of the street up to the curb where he was standing. "The car pulled up fast and scared him," he reasoned. "But why wasn't the car waiting for him right here?"

Nick turned around and looked back towards the alley. He could still see the police tape, so he was close enough while still being far enough away. Nick had been too far away that night to hear or see a car drive by. It had probably turned around and gone in the opposite direction anyway. But it had to have come from somewhere. Cars just don't skid up to a sidewalk from the middle of the street. It had to have been parked somewhere, waiting.

So Nick picked up his kit, stepped off the curb onto the street and started walking again, his eyes fixed to the pavement. He had gone about forty feet farther down the street when he came to a sudden stop. An oil stain was just in front of his right foot, but it wasn't set in like the others scattered around the street. It wasn't big enough to have come from a car that had been parked overnight, but it was big enough to show that whatever car it came from had been idling for some time, waiting for something. Waiting for McKeen to come into sight.

Nick photograhped and took a sample of the oil. It was mostly dried, but not completely. He stashed that away in his kit, along with his camera and the cloth, and took out his cell phone. He dialed Grissom's number, a smile crossing his face as the phone rang.

"Get it?" Grissom asked upon answering.

"Yeah," Nick answered. "But not in the alley."

Grissom smiled. "You took the other option that you didn't that night."

Nick scoffed. "How did you know that?"

"I know everything," Grissom replied sarcastically. "Go back to the alley behind the tape, in clear sight of people around. I don't want to take any chances. How much did you get?"

"Enough," Nick said. "I think it's going to be enough if we get it processed fast enough. Did Greg and Catherine get anything?"

"Something," Grissom said. "But nothing we can use yet."

Nick frowned slightly. "What did they get?"

"Something for you," the supervisor said. "You'll see when you get back here. I'll be there in ten minutes. Sit tight Nicky my boy."


	6. Make Damn Sure

"So what did you find?" Grissom asked as soon as Nick got into the car.

"The cloth that McKeen cleaned the gun off with," Nick replied. "I'm pretty sure anyway. DNA and trace will tell us for sure. Then some tire marks and oil. It'll tell us the car that picked up McKeen. It could be enough to get a warrant to check him out more, maybe something else will turn up."

Grissom smiled. "Good work Nick, I knew you could do it."

Nick nodded slightly. "So what did you guys find?" he asked.

"You'll see when you get back to the lab," Grissom said. "You'll know what it is when you see it."

"Do you know what it is?" Nick asked. Grissom nodded. "Is it bad?"

Grissom shook his head. "No. Well, I don't think so at least. It's not probative to the case is all I can say, but it's probative to you."

Nick shook his head slowly. "Okay, whatever man."

The rest of the ride was comfortable silence. Grissom was contently listening to some old rock songs on the radio, and Nick was too lost in his own thoughts to notice. His mind brought him back to thinking about what the last thing Warrick had said to him was. That night and after, Nick had been positive that he had said "McKeen." But when he had closed his eyes and replayed it, he had heard him saying "Nicky." At first Nick thought it didn't matter, and to a point it didn't. It wasn't the only proof Nick had that McKeen was the murderer. He had seen him do it. But what Warrick had said mattered to Nick, not to the case. It would make more sense if Warrick had said "McKeen", but deep down, Nick hoped and though it was "Nicky."

Before he had any more time to think about it, they were pulling into the parking garage. Both men hopped out of the Denali and headed right into the lab. Nick kept his case gripped tightly in his hand, not wanting to let go of it for anything. The two men went to the evidence room, where Catherine, Greg and Brass were waiting for them.

"We found a hair when we rolled up the passenger side window," Greg immediatly reported. "And a partial print. I don't think we can get anything from it though."

Grissom nodded. "Okay, good. Nick has tire treads, oil, and the cloth he used to clean the gun with. He's bringing it to the proper people, after you give him what you found."

Greg nodded, but Catherine stepped forward. "We were going over Warrick's clothes and personal affects," she explained to Nick, but was looking down at her closed fist. "And we found in them something that once belonged to you, something that we thought you might want back."

Nick frowned in confusion as he looked around the room. Brass, Greg, and Grissom were all watching Catherine, who was now standing next to Nick. He turned his attention back to her as she took his right hand gently and held her closed fist over his exposed palm for a moment before opening her hand and dropping something small, round and warm into his hand.

Nick locked eyes with Catherine for a moment before she tore hers away and down to his hand, causing him to do the same. Once he saw it, he knew exactly what it was and how it portained to him. It was the coin. Not **a** coin, **the** coin. **The** coin that Nick had tossed to decide who got the trash run and who got the case at Striperama three years ago. It was **the** coin that had decided that Nick was the one to go to the trash run, where he had been kidnapped and buried alive. It was **the** coin that he had told Warrick to keep because it was bad luck, and obviously Warrick had kept it a bit longer than just that night.

Nick stared at it for what seemed like a very long time before he looked back up at Catherine. "He kept it this long?" he asked, knowing that she, and everyone else, knew what it was.

Catherine nodded slowly. "He didn't want to give it back to you because he didn't think you'd want it, and he couldn't just throw it away either. He tried, but couldn't."

"You knew he had it?"

"Yeah. I'm sorry Nick, he just-"

"It's okay," Nick said, cutting her off softly. "I'm not mad at you. Or him. I'm not mad, I'm just surprised he kept it. I actually kinda forgot about it for a little while."

"You two never talked about what happened," Catherine said, knowing it was a fact.

Nick nodded. "It was easier not to I guess. He never mentioned it, and neither did I. We did everything but talk about it, and it helped more than talking would, I think anyway. I guess I'll never know for sure." Nick paused before continuing. "He blamed himself, didn't he?" he asked.

Catherine nodded with tears in her eyes. "He never wanted to tell you that though. He went crazy when you were down there. He was hell bent on getting you back safe. We all were, of course, but it almost made him lose it."

"He saw you," Grissom chimed in, "when you shot the light out. He thought you killed yourself."

Nick dropped his eyes to the coin and shook his head slowly. "I should have said something to him, I didn't blame him. It wasn't his fault. I should have done something when I had the chance."

Catherine put her hand on Nick's arm gently. "He was just glad you were okay. Nothing else mattered to him more than getting you back, and we did."

"Did he have it with him all the time?"

"Yes," Catherine answered.

Nick closed his hand and held it awhile more before slipping the coin into his right front pocket. Catherine's hand fell from his arm as he looked up at her. "Thanks for giving it to me," he said. "I gotta get this stuff to DNA and trace though, it could be what we need."

Everyone nodded in agreement. They watched silently as Nick left, and remained silently even when he was far out of sight, no one knowing what was supposed to be said, if anything was at all.

Nick's first stop was at the DNA lab. He was happy to see that Wendy was inside, by herself, looking pretty bored. She was sitting at her desk, looking down at the cover of a report file like it was something interesting. Nick walked in, returning the smile he got as a greeting from Wendy.

"Hey," she said happily. "What's up?"

Nick set his kit down on her desk and opened it, taking out the bag with the cloth in it. His smile had faded already. "I need you to try as hard as you can to get epithelials from this and run a DNA profile on them."

Wendy nodded and accepted the cloth from Nick. "Okay, I'll do my best."

"If and when you get a result, you need to promise me that you won't tell anyone. Don't leave the file laying around. Lock it in your desk until Grissom or myself gets it, okay?"

Wendy's smiled suddenly turned puzzled. Nick didn't have the joking, sneaky competetive tone in his voice like he usually did. "This is about Warrick, isn't it?"

Nick nodded. "Yes, it is. And we can't let anyone else know about it. Don't tell anyone the results or that you're even doing this. No one other than Grissom, Catherine, Greg or Brass. No one else can be trusted, not even Ecklie or McKeen, okay?"

Wendy nodded. "I promise. I'll get it done right away and page you when the results are in."

"Okay. Run it against the hair Greg found in the car too for me."

"Anything else?" she asked, glad to be of some help in this.

"When you're done, send the cloth over to Hodges. I need him to run trace on it. I'm on my way there with tire treads now and to tell him the same thing I told you. When you get the results, no matter how shocking they might be, just call me and don't leave the lab, okay?"

Wendy nodded again. "I won't, I promise."

Nick's smile returned. "Thank you. I'll talk to you later."

With that Nick was out the door and headed for trace, Wendy already at work behind him. He got to the trace lab at the other side of the building in record time, without harming anyone in doing so. Hodges was looking at something under the microscope, but looked up when Nick suddenly came in and right over to him.

"Am I supposed to have something for you?" Hodges asked, politely instead of in his usual snark tone.

Nick shook his head. "No, I have something for you." He handed the trace tech the pictures of the tire treads and the oil sample.

"I don't usually do-" Hodges started, but was cut off.

"I know," Nick replied, "but none of us can process anything to a full extent, and you're the only one here I trust."

Hodges looked genuinely flattered. "You trust me?"

Nick nodded. "I also trust you to do exactly as I say. This is very important, okay?" Hodges nodded, deeply enthralled. "Do not tell anyone what I gave you. If anyone asks, you have nothing to do and are very, very bored and you're just going over stuff to keep busy. Nothing new, nothing about Warrick's case."

"This is about Warrick then," Hodges said.

Nick nodded again. "Yes, that's why you have to keep it to yourself. I'm serious man, don't tell anyone."

"I won't, I swear."

"Wendy's sending over a cloth when she's done with it," Nick continued. "I need you to check trace on it for gunshot powder and anything else."

"You got it," Hodges said, no sarcasm at all. "I'll let you know as soon as I get anything."

"No one else can know, and hide the file," Nick added.

"Gotcha," Hodges said as Nick smiled his appreciation and turned to leave. Just before Nick left, Hodges called out to him. "Nick?"

The Texan turned around to face the tech. "Yeah?"

"I know I've always been kind of a jerk to you guys, you and Warrick especially...and I just wanted to say I'm sorry. I was joking most of the time, it's who I am I guess. I never had anything against you, or him, and just wanted you to know that."

"We know that," Nick said. "But just in case, make it up to me with this evidence."

Hodges smiled. "Sure thing Nick."

Nick left the trace lab and made a break for the locker room. The tightness in his chest was getting worse with each passing moment, and he felt like if he didn't sit down soon, he was going to pass out. He went through the door and into the cool, dark room, thankful to see that no one else was there. He walked over and sat down in front of his locker, leaning forward so his elbows were resting on his knees and held his spinning head in his hands.

He closed his eyes, unaware that another memory was going to replay itself through his mind. Without warning, Nick's mind took his back to the night he was kidnapped, but it wasn't one of his usual flashbacks. He wasn't underground or flying through the air or in the hospital. He was right were he was right now, sitting on the bench in the locker room in front of his own locker, except he was looking up at Warrick instead of burying his face in his hands.

Nick watched himself sit there, listening to Warrick tell the story of his weekend excursion with Tina and the thugs who had given them a hard time. Nick saw as he loaded his gun before sitting there with his undivided attention aimed at Warrick. Nick couldn't remember exactly what had been said, so instead of hearing a conversation, Nick just watched himself watch Warrick.

The tightness in his chest got worse and worse until Nick couldn't take it anymore. He opened his eyes, stopping the replay dead in its tracks. He didn't get why he couldn't breathe, or why everytime he closed his eyes something replayed itself. So he opened his eyes and sat straight up so he could pull the coin out of his pocket and hold it in front of him.

This time, he replayed the memory by himself. He remembered Warrick winning the coin toss. He remembered flipping it back to Warrick, telling him to keep it because it was bad luck.

"I guess it really is bad luck," Nick mumbled to himself.

"You can't blame yourself," Catherine's voice responded from the doorway. Nick didn't look up, but she knew he heard her. She walked over and sat down on the bench next to him. "You can't blame yourself," she repeated.

"I am blaming myself," Nick replied. "I can't help it. I've almost died so many times. Three of which due to our job. I've had so many chances, but he only got one. Why did he only get one chance?"

Catherine shook her head slowly. "I don't know Nicky."

"He was getting better too," Nick said. "He stopped with the drugs and drinking so much. Then it's all taken away, and there's nothing I can do to get it all back."


End file.
